


It Grows Dark In My Kingdom of Shadows

by InsanelyYours96



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Kissing to Seal the Deal, M/M, Master of Death Harry Potter, One-Shot, Snippet, Will Not Continue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-08 09:03:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21473473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsanelyYours96/pseuds/InsanelyYours96
Summary: Harry is the Master of Death, trying to trick another into taking up the mantle.  Tom is all too willing.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Comments: 4
Kudos: 295





	It Grows Dark In My Kingdom of Shadows

The Creature smiles. Tom can faintly make out the curl of pink lips, but beyond that he can hear it in the softly spoken words that fall from that mouth. “Oh? What is it that you wish?” 

Tom is compelled to tell the truth, both by the desire that brought him here and something entirely Other. “Immortality.”

Sunkissed hands draw up, pulling back the hood to reveal brilliant green eyes. The Creature does not smile anymore. 

Its hair is blacker than night, long enough to brush Its shoulders, with a slight curl. There is a strikingly pale, jagged streak that cut across Its forehead like a lightning bolt. Its eyes are old and all-consuming, and Tom can only equate It to an eldritch creature playing masquerade.

He swallows his trepidation.

“In that case,” It says from Its facade, young and beautiful and dangerous, “you’ve come to the right place.” 

‘Shall we make a deal with the devil?’ A small part of Tom’s mind whispers, but if he has come too far to be off put by the strange, inexplicable Creature before him, a religion he has never believed in will hardly be the thing to deter him. 

“Tell me what to do,” Tom says, and re-thinks his abrupt tone very quickly under than penetrating gaze. He has grown too used to conversing with his sycophants. “Please.”

There is a long pause. The air is heavy with tension and some old, inexplicable magic the Creature seems to be emitting. “It will be difficult,” It croons eventually, lips twitching into something sly, a glint of excitement in greengreengreen eyes. 

Tom’s lips thin. The feeling of foreboding is just as heavy as promise. “I expected as much.” 

It laughs, quick, enchanting, a touch mad, perhaps. “Very well, Tom Marvolo Riddle. I accept you as Apprentice of the Master of Death and swear to relinquish my title when you are able to meet all of the requirements of said title.”

The Creature - the Master of Death - strides forward. It stands a half foot shorter than Tom, which becomes more evident the closer It steps until their chests are nearly pressed together. A hand raises to cradle Tom’s cheek, dark against his paleness. 

“Do you agree to take over my mantle for the sake of immortality?”

“Yes,” Tom breathed against Its face. Green eyes spark. 

“Do you agree to do as I ask for so long as you are an Apprentice in our bond?”

He grits his teeth, but can only say “Yes.” 

“And finally, do you agree to perform a ritual to kill me and absorb my powers when the time comes?” 

This, Tom has no issue with. He smiles sharply, yet the Creature seems largely unconcerned by the bloodthirsty expression. Its mistake. “I do.”

“We must seal the Bond. Bend over please.” 

He does.

Hot, smooth lips press to Tom’s. He resists the urge to pull away, standing stiff and still, until he feels it. Something was stirring, some kind of powerful, impossible energy. Heat licks across his lips and Tom opens his mouth to a surge of heat, electricity, energy. 

It wasn’t magic, not as Tom knew it, but he wasn’t sure what else it could be called. The sensation was near euphoric, better than the rush of the _ Cruciatus _curse or any other spell Tom had ever performed. 

He moans and shakes at the sensation, gripping the Master of Death’s face to keep It still when It makes as if to withdraw. Warm hands catch his own, forcing them away with unnatural strength, and the flow of energy abruptly stops. 

Tom’s tongue is in Its mouth. He jolts backwards, discomfited, and steps out of reach. Green eyes watch him closely, and though It had no expression there was the faintest brushing of pink on Its cheekbones. 

“I am not an It,” It says, voice devoid of any life, and yet somehow Tom knew there was hurt, amusement, and incredulity lurking behind Its lifeless mask. 

“What are you, then?” Ton rasps, and his voice emerges lower, deeper, _ darker _than he expects. He feels energized, as though he had just completed an advanced Dark Arts ritual - which, of course, he had. He would not be here otherwise. 

“Who,” the Master of Death corrects. “My name is Harry Potter, and I identify as a him, not an It.”

Harry Potter—such an ordinary name for such a unique Creature—did not wait for Tom’s response, instead turning to lead him from the cavern.

Green eyes slant back, sharp, powerful, _ warning. _“Do try not to die before it is time to kill me.”


End file.
